Dear Heart
by hackneyed words
Summary: Chris Redfield finds his way onto Albert Wesker's Deserves a Painful Existence list.
1. Chapter 1

Albert Wesker was a mystery to those around him, but truly, he was a simple man. He liked order, discipline and loyalty - to him, forced or otherwise. Miniscule details or emotional baggage did not factor in his decisions. Hypocrisy did not sway him as he found deception to be a powerful tool. He believed himself to be righteous; after all, he had been adorned with the cursed surname for _reasons._

Most of all, he enjoyed having complete control over himself and others. He had mastered controlling his own actions long ago, earning the label of a cold hearted, to-the-point authority. Although spectacular at manipulating others, becoming the Captain of the STARS Alpha team had come with obstacles to work around.

Namely, Chris Redfield and his clique of infantile slackers.

Wesker raised an eyebrow over his shades at Redfield and Barry. They were fiddling with paper. Bound to the pile of reports he had to file, he ignored them. Any ill words he could throw at them would only be a temporary solution to a permanent problem.

Excited whispering erupted from their end of the office, adding to the Captain's migraine. _Shallow graves, _he thought, repeating it in his head like a mantra.

"Are you sure?" Barry said, glancing from Wesker to Chris.

"Yeah, let 'er go!" Chris reassured him.

"He's gonna be so pissed!" Big grin.

"Isn't that the point?" Bigger grin.

With a strong throw by weapons specialist Barry Burton, the paper airplane danced though the office, circled the head of the table, and finally, collided with the Captain's nose.

It was the loudest silence any of the Alpha team members would ever hear. After a moment, Wesker began to smile, falsely lightening the mood. Most let out sighs of relief, but Jill, so boldly, let out a giggle.

Immediately Wesker snapped at her. "What's so funny, Valentine?"

She froze.

"Forgive me. I seem to have missed the joke. Let's ask the department comedians to elaborate on this schtick of theirs, shall we?" He turned to Redfield.

Chris frowned. "Won't happen again, sir,"

"Really? I don't believe that. I don't think you do, either." Wesker said, throwing the now crumpled paper airplane into the trash bin.

"Well, excuse me for introducing a little fun into the office!" He immediately regretted his choice of words.

Wesker almost laughed in the young man's face. "You want work to be a game, do you, Redfield? We'll see who wins, then. Oh, and I want that essay on my desk by Friday."

"What essay?" He asked, puzzled.

"The one where you convince me to let you keep your job. Better make it a persuasive piece." With that, the Captain left the board room.

After a few moments, Chris scoffed. "I haven't written an essay since high school. Actually, I don't think I even did one _then._"

His coworkers could only tease him about the predicament; he had, after all, brought on Wesker's wrath himself. He couldn't say he didn't know it was coming. He just never expected anything more than a slap on the wrist. He would soon find Wesker had expertise in administering _far more _than a simple slap on the wrist.

* * *

><p>Chris shuddered as the winter wind caressed the back of his neck. Opening the heavy doors to the RPD, he sighed.<p>

It was Friday.

After hanging up his coat, he lumbered towards Captain Wesker's office. Before he entered he flipped through the essay he had written the night before, rolling his eyes at the stupidity he had etched onto the paper. It was the epitome of kissing ass and he was almost certain the sadistic megalomaniac would fire him anyway.

"Here's the essay you wanted, sir," he tossed the stapled pages on the desk.

Wesker nodded. "Good. Thanks, dear heart."

Chris, eager to escape the man's presence, started towards the door. Then, realizing the absurdity of what he'd just heard, did a double-take.

Brows furrowed, Chris looked back at his Captain. "What... did you call me?

His superior appeared equally confused. "Call you what, Redfield?"

Too tired from a night of patrolling to argue, he shook his head. "Uh, nothing. See you on Monday."

Wesker smiled to himself as he watched him leave. By the end of the month, Chris would be a paranoid wreck. His brain was nothing more than putty to mold to his liking. It would make for a fun side project to keep him entertained until Umbrella was ready for the testing at Arklay Mansion.

He skimmed through the essay and found that it only reinforced his belief that Chris was a waste of flesh, set only upon the Earth to annoy him.

_In conclusion, I should keep my job here at the Raccoon Police Department because I am a cooperative and focused individual. The paper airplane incident was meant to be a team building exercise. The STARS are already a close team, though, so it won't happen again._

He crushed the pages and threw them into the waste bin.

* * *

><p>Monday brought forth a fire drill at the RPD, sending everyone outside to shiver in the early morning Raccoon City weather. Chief Irons commanded the megaphone, barking at the STARS to make an example. Chris lagged behind his fellow Alpha team members, leaning on Jill's shoulder dramatically by the end to catch his breath.<p>

"Jesus Christ, Chris, how did they even let you on the team?" Jill chided, pushing him off of her.

"They hired me for my gun skill, not my run and gun skill." He smiled, lighting up the first cigarette of the day.

Barry laughed. "Y'know, Chris, if you can't even keep up with me... I think it may be time to kick the habit."

Chris seemed to be considering the thought, before taking a long drag. "Nope!"

After everyone was informed by Irons that they were a full minute slower than the next town over's Police Department, they were allowed to reenter the building. Chris let them go ahead, finishing off his cigarette before starting another hectic work day. A work day that would probably end in unpaid overtime, full of angry people and angrier coworkers - especially Captain Wanker, as Chris had taken to calling him after the essay bullshit.

Stamping his cigarette out on the sidewalk, he leisurely started back towards the RPD.

"_DEAR HEART,_ pick up the pace!" Satan's voice blared from the megaphone behind him.

Chris spun around to face his Captain. With a confused expression he waited for him to say more.

"I didn't say stand there like an idiot, Redfield, I said get a move on," Wesker spat. "Like an idiot."

Chris scoffed. "I knew you said it last time you asshole! Why the hell are you calling me some sick pet name?"

Wesker had a winning poker face. "Did you learn nothing from your last episode with me? Do you want to be fired, Chris?"

Chris felt like a child again, wanting nothing more than to throw a tantrum and tell his Captain how much he hated him. "No - I like my job, I'm not so crazy about," he hesitated. "I'm just not so crazy about being harassed by you!"

The older man instantly changed his demeanor. "Alright, Redfield, obviously you're having emotional difficulties. I'm willing to forgive your misbehavior as you are the best marksman available to us. Do try to improve as if this escalates, I have no qualms about managing a smaller team. Do you understand?"

Chris was ready to tear the man's throat out so he'd never have to hear that holier-than-thou voice again, but he refrained. "Fine," he ground his teeth. "Sir."

He left for the RPD in a hurry.


	2. Chapter 2

Giving his back a long, drawn out stretch, Chris reclined onto his couch. He turned on the TV with no interest in watching, his mind instead plagued by his boss. He hadn't meant to jeopardize his job, not at all. Perhaps he had enjoyed taking on the role of the cocky Alpha male too much. He'd let the jokes get in the way of his career, something he couldn't afford. After all, he was lucky being part of such a prestigious team. Fresh out of the Air Force and eager to serve, but the transition to a cop had been smooth.

He couldn't let some stupid argument with the Captain ruin it. If he could swallow his pride, come tomorrow, he would be excessively nice to the man. Maybe then the strange mind game he was trying to play would stop. It had been his Grandmother's favorite way to greet him throughout his childhood and early adolescence, a memory once tender, tarnished by the current situation.

All he could imagine was Wesker tapping a cane, motioning for him to come over so that he could pinch his cheeks.

_Oh, dear heart, you've grown up so fast._

He cringed at the thought.

* * *

><p>The sun beamed through the blinders, casting a pattern on Wesker's face. He was busy typing away when his least favorite subordinate showed his youthful mug in the doorway.<p>

"Good morning, sir," said Chris, raising a tall styrofoam cup. "I brought coffee for you."

Wesker crossed his arms and eased back in his chair, staring the man down.

"Sir? Aren't you going to take it?"

"Set it down on the table, Redfield." He cocked an eyebrow. "And what makes you do this?"

Chris let out a small laugh. "Just figured you might appreciate it is all."

"There's something more, isn't there?" He pressed.

Sighing, he answered the Captain. "It's a bit of a peace offering, okay?"

Wesker nodded. "It's good to see you making an effort. Back to work, then."

"Great. Thanks, sir." With that, he left the room unscathed.

He was incredulous as he walked down the hall, overjoyed that he didn't have to endure Wesker's strange nickname any longer. On impulse he fist pumped the air as he turned the corner, but to his surprise he hadn't hit air at all. He had just knocked Jill out cold. He cursed and clasped his hands over his mouth, shocked at what he had done. He picked up her limp body and rushed her to the medical office.

"Oh god, Ed, thank goodness you're in." Chris gasped, setting Jill down on the table.

Ed jumped at his sudden entrance. "Chris! What the hell did you do?"

"I like how you assume I'm to blame!" He said.

"Fine, sorry, what happened then?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so I might have accidentally knocked her out."

The medic glared at him. "Right. Well, while I tend to her, get the Captain would you? I have to notify him of everything, even a paper cut."

"What? Really?" He desperately did not want to have more of Wesker's attention.

"Yes, Chris. His exact words were 'I'll make sure you never find work in Raccoon again if you cross me.'"

Defeated, he returned to the Captain's office.

"What now, Redfield?" The man looked unamused.

Chris never thought he'd be so happy to hear Wesker say his name. "Uh, there's been an accident. Nothing big, just letting you know. Really, nothing to see."

The Captain was already brushing past him to get there. Chris followed anxiously. Before they got there, however, Jill came around the corner. Chris's mouth dropped as he saw her, sporting a black eye and clutching an ice pack.

"Valentine, what happened to you?" Wesker asked, causing Chris to feel ill.

"I'm not even sure to be honest. I guess I got hit pretty hard, I was unconscious." She said, eyes locked on Chris's.

Wesker noticed and looked back at Chris. "Do you know anything about this?"

"I... well, I was just walking and... and I had a spasm in my arm out of nowhere! Jill just happened to be there when it happened, really, you know I wouldn't do anything like that on purpose."

"How long ago did this happen?"

"No more than 10 minutes-"

"So you're telling me a _spasm_ had her bruising within minutes? Must have been quite the spasm, hm?"

Chris frowned.

"It really was an accident, sir. I'm sure of it. Chris has no reason to hit me. I'm fine, anyway, Ed said so." Jill said.

Wesker looked as if he had remembered something and set off down the hall without saying a word. Chris was thankful for the distraction.

"Jill, I am so sorry! It doesn't hurt, does it?"

She was colder to him now that the Captain had left. "So, your arm just swung on its own, did it?"

"No, no, I had a spas-"

She shook her head. "I'm not buying it. Since when do you throw punches while walking down the hall?"

"Fine. It was kind of a... fist pump. Y'know, a celebratory kind of thing."

She laughed. "What the hell were you celebrating?"

He thought for a moment. Unsure of whether to tell her the truth or keep it his own problem. Perhaps he could work the situation to his advantage.

"Here, come with me for a coffee after work. I'll explain it all to you then. Sound good?"

"You can't just tell me here?"

"No. Also, I want to take you out." He smiled.

She laughed even more. "A date, Chris? Us?"

"Of course not Jill, it's simply the right thing to do after disfiguring you." He said smugly. "Unless you want it to be a date. I can do that, too."

She seemed to blush slightly. "Oh, no. Ha ha! No fraternizing in the workplace, jeez, you should know that. Well, my lunch break is cut short enough thanks to you, later."

She turned to leave.

"Pick you up at 8?" He called after her.

"Yep!" Without hesitation.

Feeling on top of the world, Chris strode back towards the board room. On his way, he could just barely hear Wesker yelling.

"I don't have time for failures, Edward. I ask one simple thing of you and that is to report _everything_ to me! You're fir-"

Chris shuddered at the menacing voice and carried on his way, trying not letting it ruin his mood. Which proved to be unavoidable as a hand slapped down upon his shoulder.

"Thanks again for the coffee, _dear heart._" The Captain's voice snarled.


	3. Chapter 3

The drive to the diner had gone smoothly, Jill had responded well to his small talk; even laughed at a joke or two. Chris was unable to hide his huge grin as he opened the door for her. This woman was somehow able to make him forget all about his troubles, even the ones that sat at the diner they had just entered.

_Oh no, oh please god, no. _

Chris's grin fell to a frown as he stared down the back of the telltale blonde head.

"Hey it's Captain Wes-" Jill started, only to have her date usher her quickly into the booth farthest away from the man.

A waitress was waved over within seconds, Chris ordered them both coffees.

"Anything you want, it's on me." He noticed the waitress's expression as she looked over Jill's black eye. "You know, after the _accident _at work and all."

"Oh, I don't know... let me think it over." She tucked her hair behind her ears. Chris loved when she did that. "Chris?"

"Soup's fine, make it cream of mushroom. Thanks."

The waitress gathered their menus and left them alone.

Jill took a sip from her coffee. "Alright, tell me what's been going on!"

"Right. Well, it's going to sound ridiculous, but this is shit you just can't make up. I promise you. Oh man, you have no idea how cathartic this is going to be for me! The man's a goddamn psych-" Chris's eyes locked on to the Captain strolling over to their side. "Oh. Hi sir."

"On a date, Jill? With this brute?" He chided.

She smiled, shaking her head slightly. "Well..."

"Yes. Little privacy, sir?" Chris said.

Wesker was pulling off the fake comradery well. "I'm pulling your chain, Redfield. Too angry to mince words with me this time?"

"More busy than angry. Really though,"

"Oh, it's okay Chris. You can sit down if you'd like, sir!" Jill moved to make room.

Chris could feel the steam seep from his ears. In that moment he couldn't tell who he loathed more; the Captain and his smugness or Jill, helping the man ruin the night under the guise of being nice.

Wesker let out something resembling a laugh. "That's quite alright, I have to be on my way. I'm sure Chris wouldn't want me to impede his date with a beautiful woman any longer."

Jill grinned awkwardly, suppressing anything more. The waitress appeared beside the Captain with a hot bowl of soup for Chris, carefully setting it on the table.

"Right thanks, and goodbye sir." Chris said curtly.

Wesker nodded and looked at Jill a last time. "Farewell, dear heart."

Chris, successfully severing the link between thought and action, threw his hands up in the air angrily. "Are you serious, Wesker?"

Jill's scream drowned out his own outrage and he realized he had spilled the hot soup all over her lap. _If there is a God, may he strike me down now, _Chris thought to himself. The next five minutes were full of "I'm so sorry"s, "please forgive me"s, and "I didn't mean it"s. Wesker had been the one to grab the napkins and back her up when she cursed his name. Within five minutes, Chris's slice of peace with Jill had become apart of the nightmare. He now stood outside the diner alongside her, Wesker having just left.

He lit a cigarette. "Well, feel free to never speak to me again I guess."

"Don't say that." She was too forgiving.

"If you haven't noticed, I have a knack for injuring you. Really Jill, I don't know why you want anything to do with me." He frowned.

She sighed. "They were accidents. I can deal with it. If you end up costing me an arm or something, then I'll consider staying away from you."

They smiled at each other for a moment.

He perked up. "Look, that thing with Wesker, he wasn't hitting on you. He's trying to fuck with me, he's messing with my head-"

Jill scoffed. "Are you really that vain, Chris? Unless he also calls _you _'dear heart', then I don't think that was anything other than some embarrassing flirting."

Chris was no longer surprised at his luck. He laughed. "You have no idea, Jill, no idea."

A yellow cab pulled up. "Right. Well, thanks for a great night."

She was gone. Chris could only brood alone, no one to confide in lest he have the entire department turn against him. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, considering spending his night at a bar rather than his apartment. He did, deciding that the chances of a more serious situation than doing paperwork at the office were low.

He was wrong.

He showed up late to work the next morning, dragging his hungover self inside just in time to see Alpha team preparing to leave.

Wesker grimaced at him. "I don't care what your excuse is, Redfield, grab your gear and get to the helicopter, now. We've lost all contact with Bravo team."


	4. Chapter 4

His muscles ached and he had a pounding migraine, but he managed to get suited up as fast as ever. He stood in the ranks and listened to Wesker yell out orders. Between the helicopter blowing the cold morning air in his face and the man he so hated a meter away, he could barely keep his composure. Chris was now the last man standing and the Captain motioned for him to get into the chopper. As he grabbed the side of the door to hoist himself in, Wesker said calmly as ever:

"Jill's fantastic in bed. That 'dear heart' line really won her over."

Chris shoved the man so hard his shades flew off. He stepped off of the chopper and started walking. Wesker yelled after him, threatening termination. He didn't care. He was done with it all.

He went straight home and stayed there for the week. He ignored any phone calls and knocks on the door. He watched TV, ate and slept. Finally, after that week of complete withdrawal, he decided to listen to some of the messages left on his phone. Two messages from Claire, one from the RPD. He played the latter.

Irons's voice.

_Chris, please come by the office. It's important. It's... well, I'd rather speak about this in person. Just, come as soon as you can. Thanks._

His first guess was that it was just about his being fired. Yet the tone of the man's voice said otherwise. He threw on casual clothing and drove to the RPD despite his resentment. Nothing could prepare him for what terrible information Irons held.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean?" Chris repeated.<p>

"They didn't make it-"

Chris could not allow himself to process what Irons was saying. "What? Everyone?"

"Well, Valentine is in a coma, it doesn't look good though," Irons frowned.

Chris shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair. "What?"

Irons could not meet Chris's eyes.

"Where is she?"

* * *

><p>Chris was struggling to keep himself from showing emotion as he made his way through the halls of Raccoon General Hospital.<p>

The sound of her ventilator made the lump in his throat tighten. Her face was bandaged, he almost couldn't tell if it was really her. But he knew. He knew and he wished he could drink away the memory of her as he had done for other things. He walked around to her other side and noticed a stub where her right arm should have been. It was too much for him, he broke down and left like a coward.

Jill Valentine, 24 years old, dead.

He wished it could be him. For a long time he hid himself away, refused to do anything. Soon after the mansion incident that took Jill's life had occurred, another tragedy caused Chris to relocate after Raccoon City was destroyed. He was lucky to be alive, but he didn't appreciate the fact. He had become a complete hermit and had even attempted suicide, but failed. He had even unplugged and destroyed his land line after receiving endless untraceable messages that said only "dear heart" before ending.

He ignored the few friends he had left. Ignored his own health. Ignored his own flesh and blood, until one day he received a call from Leon Kennedy of all people. Claire was in trouble and Chris wasn't going to wait for someone else to come through for her. In a strange way, Claire's life being on the line was the wake up call he needed to get his life back.

Apparently she had been snooping around a pharmaceutical company's Paris based facility and had gotten herself thrown into a prison on Rockfort Island. Chris was quite confused at the reason for all of this, but he would keep his questions for later. Whatever had happened, he trusted Claire. His first priority was to find her and bring her back safe.

* * *

><p>Claire Redfield brushed her hair carefully into a neat pony tail. <em>What a strange place to meet up, <em>she thought, _but I can't complain when he's paying for my flight and everything!_

She had been developing a relationship with a pen pal from France the past few months when he, Alberto Wéscar, invited her to the facility he claimed to work at. She couldn't resist finally meeting him, if he was anything like the erotic prose he wrote then she knew she had found a keeper.

"Claire?" The sudden voice made her jump.

"O-oh! Yes! Alberto? Oh my goodness, I'm so-"

"Bonjour." He uttered in a terrible accent.

She was silenced by a heavy smack to the face. And a punch to the jaw. And a kick in the ribs once she was down.

"Y-you're not French AT ALL!" Was all Claire could say through tears.

"I'm afraid not. It's not your fault this had to happen, blame your inferior Redfield genes." He turned away, but then looked back. "Oh, and one more thing."

He roundhouse kicked her square in the face, causing her to fall unconscious immediately.

* * *

><p>Chris had been searching for no longer than a day before he had ended up in Antarctica, chasing Wesker through an industrial area. Wesker had Claire with him which perplexed Chris to no end, but gave him an adrenaline rush as the terrible memories of his past came flooding back. The turmoil his ex-Captain had put him through during and after his STARS days. Trivial to some, it had plagued Chris's every thought. Dear heart is what therapists would have called Chris's "trigger phrase"... if he had ever sought professional help.<p>

Wesker had led them to a dead end on the top of a building, he held Claire back in a threatening manner. Chris kept his distance.

"What do you want, Wesker? Why are you doing this?" Chris yelled.

Wesker laughed. "Nothing, Chris. Here, have her back."

He let go of her. She ran to Chris, scared as ever, elated to see her brother after so many months of neglect.

"Chris! H-he said I have inferior jeans!" She cried out. "But these are Levi's!"

But Chris snapped as she drew closer, what he had thought was a bruise on her forehead was actually a peculiar shoe print.

Etched into her skin was _DEAR HEART._

Chris drew his gun without hesitation and drenched Claire in his brain matter.

Wesker smiled.

_Now we're even for that paper plane._


End file.
